


If One Heart Can Mend Another

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: ...well - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Spock (Star Trek), First Kiss, Getting Together, Holding Hands, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Vulcan Kisses, and if you're counting those, honestly most of this is just really soft, same difference really ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: “You’re always there when I wake up after things’ve gone sideways. Always. Every time, you’re the first thing I see. You know, that’s how I know that everything’s gonna be okay. And probably why Bones hasn’t murdered me for all the grey hair I’m giving him.” he adds that last bit with a wry smile, the weight on his chest increasing when that doesn’t make Spock’s lips twitch in their usual amusement. He hates how small his voice sounds on the next part. “So I need to know if you’re okay, because if you’re not… I think I won’t be, either.”After a mission gone wrong brings up bad memories, Jim and Spock seek solace in each other.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 32
Kudos: 184





	If One Heart Can Mend Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michaelssw0rd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/gifts).



> Eeek, I really should've known better than to try and make my overtaxed brain produce Spirk of all things, bloody hell this fic was uncooperative. But better late than never... Happy Birthday, Tee!!!!!!! You're the best friend one can wish for, and I wish you all the best for this next year and all the ones thereafter! Love you!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Fair warning, most of this was written past my bedtime and I haven't do much as typo-read it. I hope this isn't too OOC and I apologise for all the mistakes in advance!
> 
> Super sappy title is from No Rest for the Wicked by Lykke Li, because I have that stuck in my head right now and it's past my bedtime _again_ and I really can't come up with anything better.

“I’m _fine,_ Bones. I just- Ow!”

Bones just rolls his eyes as Jim rubs the stinging part of his neck that’s just been assaulted with a hypospray by his best friend.

“The hell you are, kid! Six hours ago I was fixing your hypoxic brain injury, and if you can’t remember that, I’ll take that as a sign that I have to strap you down and put you through another round of neuro-regeneration!”

“Okay, so I have a bit of a headache-”

“A bit of- !”

“-but that’ll clear up in my quarters just as well as in sickbay. And aren’t you always telling me about all the bad things stress hormones do to the human body? If anything, from a medical standpoint you should be telling me to go sleep it off in my own bed.”

If Jim had been one of the engineering ensigns, he probably would’ve voluntarily slinked back to the biobed at Bones’ glare, but he’s been a loyal subscriber to those glares through all of their academy time and his captaincy so far, so all he does is raise an eyebrow which he absolutely copied from Spock and uses just to annoy Bones.

Except, this time, Bones just gives him that even more annoying, knowing smirk of his. “Yeah, if I thought you had any intention of actually going to your own quarters.”

Then he sighs, aggrieved and resigned the way he always does when he’s giving in to Jim’s wheedling, because Bones is just the best.

“Fine. Your quarters or the hobgoblin’s, see if I care, but you’re spending the next 24 hours on strict rest. No strenuous activities. I mean it, Jim, I get a hint that you’ve so much as jogged three steps to the bathroom, and I swear to god, the data of your last medical work-up will mysteriously get deleted and then you’ll be in here the day after tomorrow for a full examination.”

The shudder of horror going through Jim isn’t as faked as he’d like, he’s gotta admit, sitting through one of Bones’ examinations is a pretty effective threat. Almost effective enough to make Jim think twice about getting our of sickbay ASAP.

Almost.

“Yeah, yeah, _rest,_ I know. I just gotta check in on Spock and then I’ll be off to bed, you can find someone else to hypo.”

When Bones isn’t making any moves to stop him, he tries his luck and sneaks around him to the door leading into the corridor – towards freedom.

“I mean it, Jim!” Bones grumbles after him. “No strenuous activities! And sex counts as one too.”

No, Jim’s not blushing. At all. He stopped blushing when he was about twelve.

“Me and Spock... it’s not like that.” he insists. It’s not the first time, and even to his own ears it sounds kinda half-hearted, because yeah, okay, it really isn’t like that but Jim _wants_ it to be like that.

There is something between them, has been ever since the whole Khan SNAFU, or at least Jim feels like there is. It’s not something they’ve talked about, and sure, if it were just a matter of physical attraction, he would’ve had no issue broaching the topic. But this thing with Spock… It feel serious, more serious than anything he’s ever even tried. So much so that sometimes he thinks, if he isn’t imagining things, if he could somehow make it work, Spock might be _it_ for him.

“It’s not like that because for some reason, you two idiots refuse to just up and talk to each other!”

Is shuffling out into the hallway as fast as he can get away with and pretending he hasn’t heard anything the most mature way to deal with Bones’ admittedly not inaccurate point? No, but since when has anyone accused Jim of always being mature anyway.

* * *

He hesitates in front of the door in their shared bathroom leading to Spock’s quarters and finds himself swallowing thickly, suddenly nervous. Spock’s probably meditating right now and doesn’t need Jim to bother him. Maybe he should just go lie down instead. He’s feeling a bit dizzy and if Bones knew that, Jim would probably already find himself being hypo’d into oblivion.

But he can’t get the look on Spock’s face out of his head – what little he saw of it when he woke up in sickbay, barely even conscious before Spock left, with that awful look in his eyes.

He knocks.

It takes a few seconds, just long enough for Jim to almost turn around after all, but then the door quietly slides open, letting through the comforting heat of Spock’s quarters. Spock is dressed in one of his Vulcan robes, the strict, severe lines of it accentuating his lean but muscular build. Behind him, Jim can see the mat unrolled in the corner, the meditation lamp lit beside it.

“Captain.” Spock greets him, face blank in the way it is when he’s doing his best to put on his Vulcan mask, posture straight but deliberately not tense. But as always, it’s his eyes that give him away – to Jim at least.

“Not on Duty, Spock.” he reminds him, aiming for a gentle teasing sort of tone but it comes out a little too soft.

“Jim.” Spock acquiesces easily enough, but the mask stays, and so does that look.

A look of turmoil. Of fear and sadness and worry and anger, and Jim hopes against hope the latter isn’t for him.

“Sorry, this a bad time?” He holds up the chess board he grabbed as an excuse. They’ve stopped needing any kind of pretence to spend time with each other, haven’t bothered with excuses in months now, but Jim’s gut told him that today might be an exception to that. The air feels tense and fragile between them, and he wants nothing more than to fix that. Nothing more than to make that look in Spock’s eyes go away. “Thought we could catch up on the game we missed yesterday. But I’ll come back later, if you want?”

There’s another moment of tense silence, but then something about Spock seems to soften, just a bit. Jim hopes that’s not resignation on his face when he steps aside to let Jim into his quarters.

“I am not currently occupied with any pressing matters, Captain. _Jim._ I merely hadn’t expected for Dr McCoy to allow you to leave his care for approximately another 5.5 hours.”

Jim grins as he starts setting up the board on Spock’s desk while Spock pulls up his usual chair for him. “Lucky for me Bones isn’t captain.”

“Indeed, although he is our Chief Medical Officer and thus outranks you on medical decisions.”

“Semantics.” Jim waves him off. Bones knows him and trusts him, so Jim knows his friend won’t pull rank on him, even if another doctor might’ve, just like Jim knows that if Bones ever does, it’ll be for a damn good reason.

He picks up one of his pawns, turns it between his fingers for a moment, then moves it to the level below. Kind of a boring opening move, but it’s not really chess he’s here for anyway.

“I do not believe health matters should be considered thus. May I remind you, Captain, that as your First Officer, regulations obligate me to report anything damaging to your person to the Chief Medical Officer.”

Jim rolls his eyes at him playfully. “Don’t worry, _Mr_ Spock. My presence here is medically sanctioned, so you’re not in breach of any regulations. You know Bones trusts you to babysit me.” Then he gestures towards the board, a bright grin in place and something teasing in his tone. “I’m banned from any strenuous activities though, so you might wanna go easy on me tonight.”

Another day, Spock would’ve countered in turn, would’ve teased back with a spark in those warm, dark eyes of his, would’ve let them fall into their usual kind of almost-flirtation. Jim misses it instantly when he doesn’t. The look in Spock’s eyes stays the same, troubled and almost pained.

“Very well.” he agrees flatly, moves his own pawn forwards in a move Jim’s seen him make a few times before.

Playing in silence isn’t anything new for them, hell, they spend most of their time together, and they’re both often exhausted by the time they find a moment to play; there’s a limit to how much conversation even Jim can strike up under those circumstances. He doesn’t mind though, the opposite really, he’s never had anyone he feels comfortable just being quiet with the way he does with Spock.

It’s not a comfortable silence today.

Usually, at this point, they’d both be relaxed, Spock would’ve let that Vulcan composure of his slip just a little, just enough to soften him around the edges. But his face is maybe even more carefully blank now than it was when he opened the bathroom door and the only reason Jim isn’t sitting here stiff as a board with tension is his bone-deep exhaustion and the headache that’s started throbbing behind his temples. He should go to bed, get some sleep in hopes that it’ll be gone by tomorrow – and that he’ll avoid another of Bones’ lectures – but he can’t. There’s a lump sitting in his throat and a heavy weight somewhere in his ribcage that gets worse with every time Spock avoids meeting his eyes.

“Jim? Are you well?” Spock breaks the silence when Jim misses an obvious opening to capture his bishop.

He nods even if that’s not quite true, and hopes Spock won’t call him on it. Then, after a moment of gathering his courage, “Are you?”

A small frown forms between those straight brows, so faint it’s barely visible in the cabin’s low evening lighting. Jim wants nothing more than to smooth it away.

“I am functioning adequately.”

Jim catches himself just before he scoffs at that perfectly Vulcan non-reply. Bones would have a field day with that one, actually, he’s gotten pretty inventive with his rants whenever Spock’s said precisely that after getting hurt during an away mission.

It’s bullshit every time.

It’s just as much bullshit as Jim’s nod was, so he should really let Spock get away with this one just to return the favour – and to not cut their evening short, because as awkward as it’s turning out, something in him can’t bear the thought of not being in a room with Spock right now. But.

“It’s okay, you know.” Jim says, and this time it’s him avoiding the other’s eyes. “If you’re not. Or at least that’s what the counsellors Starfleet keeps likes sending my way usually tell me.”

It’s not like Jim’s got any leg to stand on when it comes to telling anyone anything about mental health – he knows his head’s a mess, and probably one that can’t be un-screwed anytime _ever_ , the Kelvin and Frank and Tarsus and Nero and everything else have seen to that, honestly it kind of takes him by surprise every time he passes the regular psych-evals for his captaincy – but that _look_ in Spock’s eyes just after Jim woke up in sickbay today is burned into his retinas.

Opposite him, Spock tenses in his seat, just a little.

“Spock. Talk to me.”

Second pass, slowly, trickling into minutes, and then warm brown eyes meet electric blue, untouched by the mask their owner’s trying to settle over them.

“Your offer is appreciated, Jim. However, there is no need for your concern, I am-”

Yeah, no. That won’t do.

“Functioning adequately, I know, Spock. And I also know that that’s Vulcan for _I’m fine_ , and I know _fine_ can mean a lot of things, but it never ever actually means _fine_.”

“That is a most illogical statement.”

“And yet it’s true.” The sigh comes from somewhere deep within him, a place that’s tender and tired. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his internalised Bones yells something along the lines of _just talk to the damn hobgoblin._ “You’re always there when I wake up after things’ve gone sideways. Always. Every time, you’re the first thing I see. You know, that’s how I know that everything’s gonna be okay. And probably why Bones hasn’t murdered me for all the grey hair I’m giving him.” he adds that last bit with a wry smile, the weight on his chest increasing when that doesn’t make Spock’s lips twitch in their usual amusement.

He hates how small his voice sounds on the next part. “You left today though, right after I woke up. I didn’t get more than a glimpse of you, and… Please, Spock. I need you to tell me if everything’ll be okay. If _you_ will be okay. Because you’re important to me, god, Spock, do you have any idea…” The words get stuck at the last moment, they’re too much for today, so he shakes them off. “So I need to know if you’re okay, because if you’re not… I think I won’t be, either.”

The mask doesn’t crack, it simply slips away. That look in Spock’s eyes, that look of fear and grief and pain blooms open and doesn’t stop at the border of his eyelashes, blooms further into the smallest of lines between his brows, the faintest downward tug on the corners of his lips, and it’s painful to watch, squeezes Jim’s heart until he almost feels like he can’t breathe, but finally, finally the air between them turns less fragile. Finally, there seems to be solid ground somewhere his feet can reach.

“It was… difficult to see you in the airlock today. Dr McCoy was confident in his ability to revive you, but even though I was fully aware of the statistical prevalence of success for both this particular medical treatment as well as Dr McCoy’s overall skill as a physician, just as I was aware of the fundamental difference of the situation, I. I found myself… remembering.”

Of course. A part of Jim wants to bang his head against the chess board for being so stupid. It’s not like the similarity hasn’t occurred to him, particularly in the very moment as the Klingons who’d captured him dumped him in that airlock and started slowly depressurising, a screen of transparent aluminium separating him from safety, while his crew was forced to watch and Spock and Scotty scrambled to come to his rescue… He couldn’t _not_ think of another transparent barrier he was locked behind, couldn’t _not_ think about Spock on the other side of it, safe but forced to watch, out of reach.

It’s just that Jim’s the king of suppression and so he instinctively buried any unpleasant reminders the moment Bones had his brain fixed up enough for him to be conscious enough to do so.

“Shit, Spock, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think! I…”

The look in Spock’s eyes turns warmer, and for the first time today, there might be amusement in them, somewhere among the lingering horrors. “You do not need to apologise for that, Jim. After all, Dr McCoy did recommend you avoid any strenuous activities.”

The laugh that bursts out of Jim at Spock’s sass – god, it’s only been what, barely a day since he’s heard it, and he’s been missing it more than he even realised – is a little hollow and ragged around the edges, but it’s real enough. Even if he knows Spock only said that to cheer him up, that doesn’t mean it’s not working. He’s reached out before he knows he’s doing it, giving a habitual, appreciative pat to Spock’s forearm that ends with his hand just lingering there, the robe cool and smooth under his palm. Spock doesn’t pull away or shake him off – he hasn’t done that in a long time now.

“I, however, do apologise. I did not intend to cause you worry, especially not while you have yet to fully recover.”

Jim shakes his head, waves him off – it’s not worth having this particular argument today. “Spock. You’re important to me, I’ll always worry, I’m an illogical, emotional human that way. But that doesn’t matter, all that matter is that you’ll be okay. And you know, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

“Thank you.” Dark eyes meet blue, and somewhere, among the things Jim longs to soothe away, there is a smile hiding within them too. “You too are of high importance within my life, Jim, and as such, the possibility of losing you someday is one I find extremely difficult to accept. As is the thought of what may have been. As illogical as the contemplation of alternate scenarios of past events may be, today I’ve found them difficult to avoid. But I can assure you, after the appropriate amount of meditation, I will be quite well.”

The reminder feels like he’s being suddenly snapped out of a daydream. The robe, the mat, the candle, he’s noticed them the moment Spock opened the door – he should’ve taken the hint, should’ve sucked up his stupid insecurities and gone to bed, should’ve satisfied himself with the glimpses of Spock he’s gotten today already. The man doesn’t owe him anything after all, and Jim’s a grown ass adult who should know better than to push his presence on people.

He gives Spock a sheepish smile, awkwardly rubbing his neck with his free hand because despite everything, he can’t make himself detach the other one from Spock before he absolutely has to.

“Right. Of course. Sorry, I should just- I’ll leave you to it.”

He’s definitely about to make a totally natural and smooth exit, except his body decides to betray him the moment he tries to get up from his seat. The stabbing headache kicks up a notch and a wave of dizziness hits him, there are black spots filling his vision and a ringing in his ears. He knows he’s falling back down before he’s even all the way to vertical, just as he knows that he’s far enough already to miss the chair on his way back down, and so, in the second that remains, he resigns himself to an unpleasant encounter with the floor or maybe the edge of the table.

A clattering sound comes from somewhere close by just as his knees give out, and then –

A familiar hand grasps firmly onto his elbow, a strong arm winds around his waist, and instead of winding up on some hard surface, he’s gently guided back onto the chair, touches lingering to make sure he’s not about to fall back over.

“I’m good now, thanks.” Jim forces out an awkward laugh even as he breathes through the discomfort. “Sorry about that, I-”

“Cease your apologies. Your body has been through significant strain and you should be on bed rest for an optimally efficient recovery; as you are not, this is only to be expected. Apologising is illogical.”

“Yeah, but. I know I’m intruding, and I was finally gonna get out of your hair, not go all damsel in distress on you again.” An involuntary shiver runs through him as Spock’s beautiful, elegant hands skim all over him, probably checking on all the injuries Bones fixed up earlier today, and Jim hopes they can just pretend it’s the dizziness still affecting him. “I think I can get up now. Just. Not as quickly, maybe.”

The attempt at doing so is immediately halted by Spock’s grip on him tightening again, gently pressing him down into the surface of his chair. Jim tries not to enjoy the feeling too much.

“Jim. Your presence is not, and never will be, an intrusion to me. It is, in fact, most welcome. However, I regret that my lapse in control has caused you to seek me out due to your concern for me, since having done so is evidently impeding your recovery, and it was out of selfishness that I have allowed you to stay when I should have asked that you leave to rest. I would ask that you do so now.”

Yet, his hands stay firm, keeping Jim in place as if the sudden intensity in his gaze alone weren’t already enough to pin him. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, his headache pounding along with the way his heartrate spikes, but he hardly even notices.

“Does it help?” he asks, voice low and roughened, sounding as parched as he suddenly feels. “Me being here? Because… it does when you’re there, whenever I’m worried or scared of something or when my mind’s going in circles about things I don’t want to think about… It always helps when you’re with me.”

“To ask you to stay for my… emotional comfort when it is detrimental to your health would be unforgivable.”

The back of his hand feels like silk where Jim runs his thumb over it, skin cooler than his own and so smooth. His fingers seem deceptively delicate in Jim’s hand. Jim feels dazed, and maybe it’s the remnants of hypoxic brain injury, but he thinks it’s really just the way he wants to let himself fall into those warm, chocolate eyes, and never come back up.

“That’s not a no.” he points out, softly, almost a whisper, “I-”, swallows thickly, “I could stay here. If you wouldn’t mind me taking up space on your bed for a few hours. Bones just said to sleep, I’m pretty sure _where_ isn’t medically relevant. You’ll get your meditation, I’ll get my rest, and we could keep each other company.”

Silence hangs over them like a weighed blanket, heavy enough to muffle even the sound of Jim’s own heart in his ears. He doesn’t know how much time passes like that, in this strange, timeless moment. Only that he realises all of a sudden that those dark eyes aren’t fixed on his own any longer, are wide and oddly vulnerable, and all the darker for the way the warm brown is almost swallowed up by his pupils. He follows their gaze, can’t help it, and catches a glimpse of a faint green flush at the tip of a pointed ear, until his too comes to land on their hands.

Their hands, in the narrow space between them, entwined, Jim’s thumb running slow caresses over Spock’s skin and Jim holding onto Spock’s elegant fingers, and Spock holding Jim’s in turn. It’s nice, and he doesn’t ever want to let go, and-

He doesn’t even know when they started holding hands, and Jim starts silently but viciously cursing his ever so tactile nature, the part of him that can’t seem to help but reach out whenever he tries to comfort someone like his subconscious knows no other way to do it, even if it’s. Inappropriate.

God dammit, it’s so inappropriate, he wasn’t thinking, he should have _thought!_ As notoriously uptight as Vulcans can be about, well, kind of everything really but particularly matters of their biology, _everyone_ knows about Vulcan hands, everyone knows better than to just grab them! _Jim_ knows better, and sure, there might be that thing between them, that warm, gentle thing they don’t talk about, and he _thinks_ it’s mutual but for all he knows he might have made it up in all his pining.

And even if not, that’s not exactly the same as blindsiding Spock into fucking _Vulcan making out_ while he’s emotionally vulnerable and Jim’s supposed to be a good friend and comfort him! And who knows how much of his own emotional mess he’s projecting right now, on top of that.

“Jim…”

Guilt floods him, to the point where he almost physically cringes.

“God, Spock, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Again. I should probably just-”

Moving to pull away, to get up and hopefully make his strategic retreat without fainting into Spock’s arms a second time – however tempting that sounds, but this is so not the time for any of this, especially after how colossally he just fucked up – it takes him a moment to process the way the grip around his own hand tightens, to the point where it nearly grows bruising in strength.

“Do not.”

Something raw fills Spock’s voice and it makes Jim’s eyes snap up to his, startled, but not nearly as startled as he is at the sheer intensity in the Vulcan’s gaze. That look is back, the one from earlier, the one that’s haunted him since he saw it before Spock fled the sickbay, but there’s an incredible warmth there too and it turns it into something so fierce that for a moment, it’s all too easy to see why Vulcans needed to establish their strict doctrine of self-control.

He can pretty much watch as Spock wrestles some of that control back, paper-thin as it may be. His ears turn greener still, some of the colour reaching down atop his cheekbones, his hold on Jim’s hand loosens but he doesn’t let go.

Neither does Jim.

“I… Your suggestion was… most efficient and logical. I would be very appreciative of your continued presence.”

Spock’s fingers move while he gently leads Jim towards his bed, pick up their own little caress not unlike Jim’s, but instead of the back of his hand they skim, oh so gently, over his fingertips. It makes him feel like sparks are dancing up his whole arm, makes his heart race, headache pulsating but he never wants it to stop.

He only nods, words out of his reach, almost numb with the feeling. There’s disbelief, he thinks, something vaguely surreal about this moment which is probably due to his exhaustion, but there’s something else behind that too, something telling him that tomorrow, he’ll wake up to a brighter world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it? If so, pretty pls leave the sleep-deprived author a comment :)


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